


Spider-Kids can get sick too?

by chvotic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crying, Embarrassment, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Flash is a dick, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Humiliation, Innocent Peter, Light Angst, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting, dad tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chvotic/pseuds/chvotic
Summary: The more Flash spoke, the worse Peter felt, the more he could feel his breakfast moving up his stomach. He was hoping he would make it to where the decathlon was going to be held, but knowing how he was feeling....No. He could make it.When Flash poked him again, his stomach lurched. Maybe not.Or, in which, Peter is sick and Flash is an ass.





	Spider-Kids can get sick too?

**Author's Note:**

> okay i started writing this with the intention of like, 3,000 words but then it just got away from me... 
> 
> this was inspired by another fic but i can't remember the name of it yeet
> 
> anywayssss hope you enjoy this random as sickfic :p i also have an idea for an actual, full-length story so hopefully i'll be able to share that with you at some point...
> 
> have fun reading and sorry for any mistakes

Peter really regretted getting on that bus for his decathlon.

He had woken up feeling a little woozy, but he had just played that off as being really hungry. He had been out late patrolling, and even then he felt a little strange in the stomach, but he hadn't thought much about it. He never got the chance to eat any dinner, so it seemed right that he was hungrier than he usually would. So, being the idiot he was, he stuffed his face with as much pancakes, eggs, bacon and juice that May could supply until he had to leave for school.

And now, he was sitting on the bus halfway to their location with his stomach churning like there was a tornado inside of it. Not only that was his head pounding, his forehead and underarms sweating profusely as he shivered from the random chills he was receiving. His senses were more prominent than usual, his ears picking up every small sound a person or the bus made the more and more they drove. He could feel and hear every sound the bus' engine made, his stomach curling painfully as Ned tried to speak to him and distract him from the immense pain he was feeling.

He should never have gotten on his goddamn bus.

Peter deeply regretted his choice of eating so much as it churned and swirled away in his stomach, his head pulsing angrily as he leant back against the seat with his eyes closed. Ned had placed a comforting hand in his, giving up on trying to speak to Peter as Peter gave up trying to respond. Mr. Harrington had already come up to him and asked if he were okay, but Peter had just waved him off as he focussed on not throwing up his entire breakfast over himself and the seat in front. His teacher had looked unconvinced, but seemingly brushed it off otherwise.

His yellow blazer was itchy against his skin, the sweat continuing to bead down his forehead as he tried to tune out the engine and the excited voices of his teammates. Tuning them out had been working for a short while, but that was until Flash decided to speak up and ruin Peter's tiny moment of calm. 

"Aw, look, the boyfriends are holding hands!" Flash all but yelled, Peter wincing as his voice echoed around his skull. He could feel the pained tears welling up in his eyes as his stomach churned, using his free hand to pull at his blazer as it shifted uncomfortably on his skin. "Always knew they were fags. Don't you agree, Penis?"

Peter just groaned. "Shut up Flash." Ned threw back, his hand tightening around Peter's. "Leave him alone."

"Awww, is little Penis Parker feeling sick? Got a little tummy ache?" Flash taunted, his voice getting impossibly closer. "Looking a bit pale there, aren't you?"

"Shut up." Peter grumbled, his stomach beginning to churn more aggressively as his head rolled to the side, trying to escape Flash's voice without opening his eyes.

"What did you say?" Flash snapped, though it was all humour. "Hear that everybody? Penis is fighting back!"

The more Flash spoke, the more his head pounded, and the more the food in his stomach churned. The more he spoke, the closer he felt to throwing up, and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't throw up in front of everyone, that was just embarrassing. And, he just hated throwing up. "Flash, s-shut up."

"Eugene." Mr. Harrington's voice finally broke over the small predicament, the use of Flash's real name bringing a weak smile onto his face. "Sit down, please. Clearly, Mr. Parker here isn't feeling well so if you would leave him be, that would be great. Parker, why don't you try rest up so you can feel better for the decathlon?"

Peter didn't answer, forcing himself to try and sleep. Surprisingly, his pain began to fade away as he finally dropped off, barely registering when his head fell against Ned's shoulder. Though, he suspected he wasn't asleep for very long when he was jolted, his eyes shooting open as his body fell forwards. The temporary relief had ceased to exist as he righted himself, squinting around at the harsh light as he looked around for who had forced him out of his slumber.

Of course, when he looked to his side to where the vacant seat had been, Flash was sitting there with a shit-eating grin on his face. Peter rolled his eyes, turning away and thumping his head back onto the headrest with a groan. He immediately regretted hitting his head so hard when his forehead pounded from the impact, his stomach beginning to curl once again along with the pain as he tried not to let the dizziness take over. His stomach was getting worse and worse, and the tears were beginning to burn at his eyes once again as he closed them.

Ned's hand was resting on his knee this time, obviously sensing his discomfort as Flash continued to taunt him. It didn't help that his blazer and his jeans were irritating his skin so much, making his skin crawl almost as much as Flash was. "C'mon, Petey-Pie, why don't we call your Mommy and Daddy- oh wait, you don't have any. Sorry."

Peter's eyes filled up behind his eyelids, Flash's words hitting him hard. Ned's hand tightened on his knee, Peter moving his head to the side once again, away from where Flash was. 

"I think I struck a nerve." Flash sniggered, something poking at his arm. Flash's finger, probably. "Poor little Penis."

The more Flash spoke, the worse Peter felt, the more he could feel his breakfast moving up his stomach. He was hoping he would make it to where the decathlon was going to be held, but knowing how he was feeling....

No. He could make it.

When Flash poked him again, his stomach lurched. Maybe not.

Peter's eyes flew open, a slightly wet cough leaving his mouth as he leant forwards, his head resting on the seat in front. He tried to take in deep breaths to calm down his surging stomach and his heart, along with the tears that were pooling in his eyes. Of course, Flash was talking again, he would never give him a goddamn break.

"Oh, is Penis Parker going to cry?" Flash whispered mockingly, another finger poking at Peter's shoulder. His heart rate began to speed up once again, and every time Flash was touching him it was making everything feel worse. At that very moment, he wanted May and Tony to make everything okay again.

He groaned, furrowing his eyebrows as he pressed his forehead into the cool leather of the seat in front. It was doing little to calm down his boiling, and still pounding, forehead, the voices chiming in around him making his head hurt even more. He could hear Mr. Harrington's voice in there somewhere, but he couldn't will himself to focus on him as he tried to keep himself calm. 

He was panicking. 

Flash poked him again. "Flash, stop it, you're making it worse!" He heard Ned snap straight after, the hand having left his knee and was on his shoulder now. "Peter, you alright, buddy?"

"I don't feel so g-good." He could feel it coming, he could feel his stomach contracting painfully. Almost instantly after speaking, he gagged, a gross gurgling, burp-like noise coming from his mouth as everything began to lurch up into his throat all at once before he could swallow it back down.

He heard a chorus of 'oh no' and 'ew' as he dry heaved, pulling away from the seat in front to attempt to get ahold of himself. But he knew it was too late, because on his second gag, a small amount offood and liquid was coming out and spilling all over his blazer, undershirt and his pants. Ned jumped beside him, someone calling out to get the trash bin as Peter sat there, stunned at what had just happened.

That had only been the beginning, and he knew it. He suspected everybody else in the bus knew it, too.

With a sickening, gut-lurching sound, he went into round two, which was considerably worse than the first one. The sight and sound of his own vomit splattering onto himself and the floor made everything worse, the tears beginning to slip from his eyes as he desperately tried to get rid of everything that was making him feel bad. He was almost wheezing by the time a trash can was shoved in front of him, the rest of whatever was left in his stomach emptying out into the bin as people squirmed and yelled around him. The yelling did nothing to calm his senses down, his head pounding even harder as the world swayed around him. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn't gotten sick since the spider bite.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, his vomiting ceased. He was heaving in dry breaths, coughing every few seconds as he leaned into the bin, his head resting on his arms which were resting on the sides of the said trash can. He could feel his vomit and spit dribbling down his chin, he was crying, his eyes burning as he tried to get ahold of his emotions and his stomach at the same time. His head was still pounding, the smell was beginning to enter his nose at full force, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide from the world.

He was humiliated.

"Ew, Penis. That was gross." Flash chimed in, laughter soon after. How could someone laugh about something like this?

"Flash, enough. Get out of the way." Mr. Harrington. There was some shuffling before there was a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Peter, we're almost at the venue. Around ten more minutes, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

Peter groaned in response, knowing his vomiting was far from over. He'd eaten a lot.

"We'll have to find you some new clothes, I'm sure the nurses office at the school will have some." A hand rested on his back, hesitant like Mr. Harrington's. Ned. "Do you think you can make it?"

"I d-don't know." Peter whispered, his voice croaky. He finally lifted his head from the bin, his bleary eyes glancing around the bus as he did so. He looked down at himself, moving the bin out of the way slightly so he could look at himself. He was completely covered in his own sick, his blazer and pants drenched along with the floor, and there was also vomit from his clothes coating one side of the once, moderately-clean trash can. The sight and smell alone sent his head back into the said trash can, another chorus of ew's echoing around his head as he gagged and gurgled. He could feel the small amount of bile drip down his chin when it came out, his tears and sweat dripping into the bin along with his vomit. God, it was disgusting. He was disgusting.

He felt like shit.

Then, he did the most embarrassing thing he could do in front of his entire decathlon team.

He started to actually cry.

He was in pain, he was sick, he was covered in his own vomit. Flash had been tormenting him about his dead parents, he wanted May and Tony to be here so they could save him from his hell. But knowing that May was at work, covering shifts in order to get more money to support them, and Tony was probably busy, he knew he wasn't going to be getting anymore comfort soon.

His shoulders shook as he cried as silently as he could, managing to keep the rest of the food he had consumed down until the bus came to a stop. He didn't pull his head from the trash can until someone patted his shoulder, presumably Mr. Harrington.

"C'mon, Peter, let's get you out of here first." Peter lifted his head, ignoring the wave of nausea as he blinked away the tears. Mr. Harrington looked down at him almost sadly, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable with what had just happened and the amount of Peter's vomit that was spread around him. Peter felt his stomach lurch painfully when he noticed his sick also covering the seat in front, disgusting chunks of his breakfast sliding down the leather and dripping onto the floor. He had thrown up a lot, and he was rather surprised about how much he had actually eaten, and how much of it he knew was left.

"Come on, up you get." Mr. Harrington's voice snapped him back into reality.

Peter shakily pulled one had from the bin and braced it on the seat in front, very slowly pushing himself up from his own seat. He ignored the sounds of stray chunks splattering onto the floor from his clothes, not looking at Ned or any other student as Mr. Harrington helped him out of the seat with a steady hand on his back. Somehow, after desperately trying to avoid everyone's eyes, he caught the one's of MJ. She looked bored, but somewhat apologetic, a frown on her face. Peter turned away, more tears slipping away as he let Mr. Harrington guide him out of the bus.

Peter sent a helpless look to the bus driver, who looked disgusted and unamused with what he had done to his bus. The tears continued to flow as he stumbled out of the metal death trap, ditching the trash can where it had originally been before. They were at another school, giving that this was rather a scrap match than an actual one, and it didn't really matter if they won or lost. It was more so a practice round, and his teammates had been doing some questions before they left. Peter hadn't participated, much to the disappointment of Ned, but he physically couldn't.

And now he couldn't participate at all.

Mr. Harrington had him wait for the rest of the students to file out of the bus, each wearing disgusted looks as they eyed Peter up and down, except for Ned and MJ. Peter looked away from them all, his stomach beginning to churn all over again as he began to feel lightheaded. He found himself hiding from his teammates behind Mr. Harrington, desperately wishing that the man was Tony and that he would protect him from all of the angry stares. He felt the need to sob, though he held it in exactly how he held the rest of his food in.

"Alright, I want everyone to go set up in that large building over there while I take Peter to find some new clothes." Mr. Harrington announced, Peter's face burning red as he shuffled more behind his teacher when every set of eyes rested on him. He looked down, immediately regretting it when he saw his attire. God, he was disgusting. "Alright, off you go. Come on, Parker."

A hand was on his upper back before he was being led into the school some more, and Peter knew where they were going. He had been to this school before, they were most likely going to the first aid. Wouldn't the nurse get a surprise...

It didn't take long, and thankfully they didn't encounter any people from the school they were in. The nurse was wide-eyed when Peter entered the small office, but didn't waste any time in finding him some plain clothes that consisted of a white shirt, grey sweats and some new socks. His head was beginning to pound all over again, the tears once again running at full force as he shrugged his sick-covered blazer off of his shoulders once he entered the small bathroom connected to the office.

He peeled his shirt off next, replacing it with the white one before sliding off his shoes. He chewed his lip as he changed his pants and socks, wiping off his black shoes with some of the toilet paper before putting them back on. He clumped all his clothes into a heap and placed them in the plastic bag that had been provided him, continuing to shuffle out of the bathroom with his head down, bag in hand. "How are you feeling, Peter?"

"Bad." Peter whispered, trying to ignore the constant churning of his stomach.

"Would you like to stay here and rest or come watch the decathlon? It's completely your choice." Mr. Harrington asked, his voice calm. 

"Decathlon." Peter mumbled, not wanting to be in the nurse's office of a school he did not attend with a nurse he did not know. "Please."

"Alright, let's go. Thank you for your help." He gestured to the nurse, and all Peter could do was weakly smile. Before he knew it, he was being led into the hall-like building where the teams were setting up.

All eyes turned to him when he walked in, Peter immediately feeling self-conscious as he followed his teacher to the back of the room. Thankfully, this school provided couches, Mr. Harrington ordering him to lie down and try to get some rest, despite the fact that his head was pounding and his stomach was still churning madly and uncomfortably. Peter knew he wouldn't be able to sleep when his stomach was acting up so bad, and he did notice when someone discreetly placed a bucket next to his head.

He caught eyes with Ned who was across the room, eyes filled with concern. Peter smiled weakly, not really knowing what else to do to reassure his friend that he was okay. Truth was, he was nowhere near okay.

Ned waved, smiling sadly before going back to answering some practice questions with his other teammates. Peter noticed that some students from the other team were looking at him, and Peter found himself wanting to curl into a ball and hide away from everyone's confronting glares and looks of disgust. Now, the decathlon team was one person down because of him, but he knew they would be fine. They did better without him. They won without him when he was too busy doing his Spider-Man shenanigans, but this was just a practice round which didn't matter.

He tried to settle down in a comfortable position so he could try get some sleep, whimpering when someone gently lifted his head and placed some sort of jacket underneath. Their touch made him feel queasier, but the jacket under his head was much softer than the arm of the couch.

He had been almost asleep when it happened, right before the decathlon was due to start.

He launched up from his laid-down position, a gag leaving him as his eyes flew open. He was now leaning over the couch to scramble for the bucket as he felt whatever was left from last time coming up. It was coming up so fast he knew he wasn't going to make it, almost choking on his vomit as it came out painfully. Some splattered onto the floor before he managed to grab the bucket, the embarrassment seeping into his mind when he heard the whispering.

Due to his enhanced hearing, he could hear everything they were saying, and he really wished he didn't.

That's so disgusting.

Why is he even here?

Penis is at it again, guys! He's even crying, what a baby.

Once he was finished hacking up the remainders of his breakfast, all that was left seemed to be bile as it dribbled down his chin. Someone was next to him, hesitantly rubbing his back, and when he looked up he noted that it was Mr. Harrington. He imagined Tony instead of his teacher, wishing he were hear to make everything feel okay again. Only a few more hours to go before he could get back on that dreaded bus and- wait.

He had scheduled a lab visit with Tony after school.

He felt excited and nervous at the same time, having completely forgotten that Happy would be picking him up from school and taking him to the tower. Those feelings didn't make his stomach feel any better, though he let himself bask in the fact that he would be able to see Tony soon as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back into the couch when he was sure he was finished.

Someone took the bucket from his hands, Peter feeling grateful as he moved his arms so he could wrap them around himself. He was cold, he wished he had a jumper or some sort of warmth. Despite this, he was still sweating, and all he wanted was to curl up in a ball and die. He wanted a shower, too.

He stank like vomit, sweat and tears and he hated it.

Though, somehow, he still managed to fall into the land of restless sleep.

It felt like a minute until he woke up again, the ding of a bell filling his ears as he blinked his eyes open, the sickness returning along with his awaken. He felt his bladder desperately signalling to him for release, so without hesitating he shakily stood up and disappeared into the hallway. He knew where he was going, he'd used these bathrooms before.

Slowly, he dragged himself down the corridor and into the boy's bathroom, managing to do his business without bending over to throw up. He managed to escape vomit-free, and soon he was back on the couch and falling back asleep like he hadn't even gotten up.

Once again, much like last time, it didn't feel like long when he awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder, the pounding in his head and the churning of his stomach all returning at the same time causing a whine to make it's way out of his mouth from the back of his throat. He slowly blinked his eyes open, cringing from the harsh light as Ned's face appeared above him. "Come on, Peter, it's time to go."

Peter let Ned help him up, chewing on his lip as he felt his stomach swirl and curl over, and over, again. Ned offered him a water bottle, Peter taking it hesitantly and unscrewed the cap. He took a few sips, breathing a shaky sigh of relief when it soothed his burning throat, though it did not to much to soothe his tornado of a stomach. He ignored it, taking a few more sips before placing the cap back on and handing it to Ned. He handed him some crackers next, Peter nibbling off of the sides as he was lead out of the other school's hall and back to the dreaded bus.

"Did we win?" Peter questioned, ignoring the way that he was swaying.

"Yep." Ned sounded like he was smiling, but Peter didn't want to look. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad." Peter repeated his earlier statement, noticing that his condition hadn't improved at all. What the hell was wrong with him? "My head hurts, my s-stomach hurts, I'm cold."

"You'll be okay on the bus, won't you?" Ned asked, sounding worried.

"I don't think so."

Ned frowned, before he was ushered by Mr. Harrington to get on the bus. Peter followed behind him, his nose immediately filling with the smell of cleaning supplies and disinfectant as soon as he set foot inside the bus. This made his stomach curl violently, his inhanced senses making the smell even more potent and disgusting as he leant against the rail on the door, his legs suddenly feeling weak. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to cease his queasiness before sitting down. Not even a few seconds later, the trash can was being shoved into his hands, his classmates complaining that he was taking too long to move.

He heard Mr. Harrington telling the students to move back, and soon Peter was backing out of the bus and was outside in the cool, hospital-free smelling air. He barely realised he was crying again, his body hunched over as his mouth hung open. He could feel it coming up, he could feel the water and the small amount of crackers he had consumed coming right back up just to spite him. Within seconds, he was gagging, the water spilling out into the bucket along with the small chunks of food that was left inside of him. 

Without being able to control himself, he began to sob. He was exhausted, he wanted May and Tony, he didn't want to get back on that bus with that smell and those kids. He wanted to go home.

Mr. Harrington was asking him questions, but he was unable to answer because if he spoke, he would vomit again. So instead, he let his teacher lead him into the bus, Peter barely registering when he was placed in the very front seat as he tried his best to keep whatever was left inside of him, the disgusting hospital smell burning his nose and causing the tears to run faster. He could hear his classmates once again whispering about him, but he ignored it all as the trash can was placed in his lap. 

He leant his boiling forehead onto the cool window, sighing in some sort of relief when it did a little to soothe his pounding head. Though, his momentary peace was interrupted by the movement of the bus, and once again he was leaning over to gag into the trash can for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Though, nothing came up but a heavy and drawn out groan.

When he was sure he wasn't going to hack up anything else, he leant back against the window and closed his eyes, hugging the trash can to his chest. He let the exhaustion take over, ignoring the continuous movement in his stomach as he began to drift off. He was slightly aware of the spit dribbling down his chin as he drifted away, the thought not once becoming a priority as he was given some relief.

He found himself sleeping for almost the entire bus ride back, only waking up once to suddenly gag and bring up some more of the water and little chunks of food. He heard the whispered insults from the back of the bus as his stomach made an uncomfortable gurgling noise, the sound alone enough to make Peter almost throw up a second time. At this rate he was sure he was going to hack up a lung from how hard he was breathing, the tears once again burning in his eyes as he leant over the bin. 

Though, after a few minutes which felt like hours, he finally was able to lean back against the window and take the bottle of water that was offered to him from Mr. Harrington. Unlike last time, he gulped almost half the bottle down, ignoring the fact that it was probably going to come right back up. Instead of letting it do so, he fell back into a dreamless sleep without any hesitation. He was in that state for the rest of the ride, and before he knew it he was once again being shaken awake. He groaned, not registering when the trash can was taken away from him and was replaced with a plastic bag, which most likely held his clothes in it. In one hand there was something circular shaped with a bag inside of it, and Peter could only guess what that was.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, looking into his lap. Of course, there was a vomit bag, and in the other was his sick-covered clothes. May would kill him for ruining the blazer.

With weak legs, Peter dragged himself out of the bus behind Ned and blearily looked around for Happy's familiar black Audi. When he saw it, the man was out of the car and looking over at Peter with eyes that could only be seen as... concerning. He must have imagined it, because Happy never looked anything but bored, and Peter was sure that the man didn't care about him or like him for that matter.

After saying a short, and woozy goodbye to Ned, Peter dragged himself over to Happy while his stomach screamed in protest. He wasn't even sure if he was nauseous or hungry anymore, and he was sure if he even tried to eat something it would come right back up. He should be going back to his apartment, not Tony's tower. 

But it was too late for that now. He had all the chances to call, and he didn't use any of them.

When Peter finally reached Happy, the man was setting a hand on his bicep with that concerned look in his eye. "Kid, you alright?"

Peter shook his head, resisting the urge to bawl his eyes out as his stomach turned uncomfortably. "'M sick.. or s-somethin'." He whispered, clenching the plastic bag with his dirty clothes in it tightly. "B-been vomiting a-all day..."

"Jesus, kid." Happy replied, eyes widened slightly. "Do you want me to take you back to your Aunt's instead? We can reschedule your lab visit for another day-"

Peter felt all the blood drain from his face. He couldn't bother May with this. Not now. She was working, and Peter couldn't take her away from her work. 

He shook his head frantically, chewing his lip as his stomach flipped. "Okay, but I'm going to have to tell Tony about this beforehand. Is that okay with you, kid?"

Peter nodded once, wanting to sit down already. He was exhausted, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to handle throwing up again. Happy seemed to figure it out, moving aside and dropping the hand from Peter's arm to open the backdoor. Peter smiled very, very slightly, sliding into the car with a slight wince as his stomach protested against the movement. 

He set the bag on the floor, holding the vomit bag close to his mouth as he watched Happy move around the front of the car to reach the driver's side. He could see the man eyeing him through the review mirror, Peter trying his best not to think about the swirling in his stomach as the car took off from the sidewalk. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat and waited for them to arrive at the tower. He never managed to fall asleep, much to his dismay, only gagging once a few minutes before they were due to arrive. Thankfully, nothing came out, and Peter had seen the wide-eyed Happy look at him through the mirror once again. God, he was a wreck.

He vaguely remembered Happy on the phone to Tony halfway through their ride, but he hadn't taken in anything he had said. It was all gibberish to Peter, his mind beginning to slow down as the pounding finally began to cease. It wasn't gone, but it was on it's way there.

Finally, after what seemed like years of having his eyes closed and trying to forget about the pain, the car finally stopped. He peeled his eyes open, half-heartedly glancing around the garage as Happy got out of the car. Peter didn't move, his body slumped against the car door as he tried to fall back asleep. He didn't know why he was trying to go back to sleep when he knew he would have to get out of the car in little under a minute, but he found himself blaming it on the exhaustion of throwing up his guts for almost the entire day. He was tired before he even got up that morning, and now it was even worse.

When the door opened, he hadn't been expecting it, and his body went slumping to the side. The seatbelt painfully wrapped around his stomach and chest, his calm and moderately peaceful state being ruined as the restraints around him squeezed. There was hands on him instantly, pushing him back up into a seated position so the seatbelt wasn't pressing so tight against him.

He opened his eyes when the seatbelt then came undone, Happy's concerned eyes peering down at Peter when he looked up. "C'mon, kid, let's get you to Tony, yeah?"

Peter found himself nodding, pushing himself out of the car while grabbing the plastic bag of his clothes in one hand, the vomit bag in the other. He felt the need to vomit once again, but he swallowed the substance back as Happy began to push him to move, a strangely gentle arm around his shoulders as they made their way to the lift. Peter's mind wandered to what have possibly made him feel so shit as he stepped into the lift, the doors closing and F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice filling his ears.

"To Boss's floor?" The AI questioned, her somewhat soothing voice calming Peter down just a little.

"Yes." Happy replied, eyeing Peter for a few seconds afterwards.

He began to recount last night's patrol as the lift began to ascend, ignoring the curling of his stomach as it did so. He tried remembering any moment that he could have been struck by something, injected with something without noticing, but he found nothing. Maybe he was actually just sick like a normal, human being?

But Peter hadn't gotten sick since the spider bite, and he wasn't just a normal human. Maybe he had just been lucky?

He had no idea.

All the thinking just made his head begin to ache all over again, a light groan leaving his mouth as he leant against the lift's wall. Happy seemed to become alert as he did so, eyes widening as he took a few steps away from Peter. Peter had no time to feel hurt, his head buzzing as they got closer and closer to the floor they were going to. He could feel the water he had drank in the bus moving around inside of his stomach and coming back up, but he forced himself to swallow it down for a second time. He knew that was probably unhealthy, but he couldn't do anything else.

"Kid.." Happy trailed, obviously seeing Peter swallow. "I don't think doing that is healthy..."

Peter merely whimpered in response, feeling his legs become weaker with exhaustion as the lift continued to go up and up and up. He wanted out. "H-how much l-longer?"

"Just another few minutes. You'll be fine. Um.. let it out, if you need to... just not on the floor. Use that bag."

Peter wanted to laugh, but if he did, he knew the water that was wanting to come up would come up. He decided to hold the still empty bag to his mouth for good measure, the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks once again as they continued to ascend upwards. The few minutes seemed like hours until they finally reached Tony's floor, the doors dinging as they opened. The sound hurt Peter's ears, though he ignored it as he let Happy guide him out.

It was barely five seconds before Tony was rounding the corner, his somewhat worried eyes meeting Peter's as he walked down the hallway. Peter felt the familiar embarrassed tears welling up in his eyes as Tony got closer, and before he knew it the man's hands were on both of his shoulders, his head ducking down to meet Peter's eye properly. "What's wrong? Happy told me you were sick, but I wasn't expecting you to look like this."

Did he really look that shitty? "Peter?"

"I don't k-know what's wrong." Peter whispered, his stomach painfully swirling around inside of him. "I just feel so sh-shit." 

Tony's hand went to his forehead, Peter leaning into his cool touch with a slight sigh. "Fever."

"What's wrong with me?" Peter asked, trying not to let the water make it's way back up.

"I don't know, Underoos. How's about we get you to the doctors, yes?" Tony offered, Peter instantly wanting to reel away from the man and hide away in a corner. He began shaking his head, the tears beginning to pour as he did so. Tony's eyes lit up with concern, one hand wiping away his tears while the other continued to rest on his shoulder. "No?"

"No doctors." Peter whispered, clenching his fist around the plastic bag. "Please."

"Okay, okay, alright. What about F.R.I.D.A.Y? I can have her examine you." Peter was still skeptical, but it was F.R.I.D.A.Y. Not doctors. He slowly began to nod, letting Tony lead him in the direction of the smaller lab he had installed on his private floor. Peter let his tired legs carry him, feeling relieved when he finally got to sit down. He was sat on one of the wheeled chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for Tony to diagnose him. 

The vomit bag was now raised to his mouth, the water quickly making it's way up. He whined, leaning over slightly as Tony moved around in front of him. He was saying something, but Peter couldn't understand him as he gagged. Not even seconds later, the clear liquid that was most definitely water was pouring out into the bag with a disgusting, wet sound. He practically heard Tony cringe as he finished, leaning back in the chair while breathing deeply. 

"That been happening all day?" Tony asked, fiddling with something on his desk.

Peter barely managed to nod, the exhaustion now beginning to fully take it's toll as Tony continued to speak to his AI. "Fri, scan him and tell me what's wrong with him."

There was a few moments of silence as F.R.I.D.A.Y. presumably scanned him over.

"Young Peter seems to have a case of the stomach flu, sir." Peter's eyes opened, confusion filling his system as he listened to F.R.I.D.A.Y. "He is also very dehydrated and sleep deprived."

Peter could feel Tony's stare before he had looked up.

"You're not sleeping?"

Peter felt his stomach churn, but this time, it was anything but nausea. It was more nerves than sickness, now. His head pounded, he continued to sweat as he mumbled out his excuse. "I do sleep. Just not as... just not a-as much lately."

He was crying, but he was going to ignore that problem for another time.

"Peter..." Tony trailed, a sigh leaving his mouth as he wiped his face down. "You gotta tell me these things."

Peter looked down. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Tony nearly snapped, Peter barely reacting. "I didn't know a Spider-Kid like you could get sick like normal humans."

The tone in the room lightened slightly, though Peter found himself rather confused too. "Neither did I."

Soon enough, Peter found himself wrapped up in blankets in his bed, a bucket sitting on the floor next to the as Tony sat on the bed on his other side. He was on the phone, letting May know what was happening and that Peter would be staying over the night and not going to school the next day. Peter was too exhausted to care, his head leaning on his mentor's shoulder as he made the call. Usually he would be able to hear every word the person on the other end of the phone would be saying, but his senses were so messed up, let alone he really couldn't be bothered caring.

Tony's arm was around his shoulder, his hand gently rubbing his bicep when Peter squirmed. His stomach was still churning, giving that Tony had forced him to drink more water and eat a little. He knew it would probably come up somewhere during the night, but right now all he cared about was sleep.

The call was ended, Peter's eyes closing as Tony ran a hand through his hair. "So, what do you know, Spider-Kids get sick too."

Peter grumbled, eyebrows furrowing as his stomach churned some more. 

"Get some sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up." Tony continued, and Peter did exactly what he said.

He fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later to vomit over himself, Tony, and the bed. He had been a blubbering mess of tears, apologies and panic, Tony insisting everything was fine and that he would clean it up. It was only water and tiny parts of food, so it wasn't that bad. Peter curled up on his beanbag as he waited, almost falling asleep right there and then.

It took a few days for Peter to return back to normal, having gone home and stayed curled up in his bed for days. But soon enough, Peter was back at school, Flash was being a pain and his decathlon team seemed more distant than normal. Though, Peter found himself unable to care.

All he cared about was the fact that Spider-Man could get sick, too.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave some feedback :)
> 
> also, if you want, you can follow me on instagram  
> @wolvicious


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